


warm blood

by arcanine



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: (kind of), (sort of), Alternate Universe, And Baz is a vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Enemies With Benefits, Forbidden Love, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Simon & friends are monster hunters, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24273817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanine/pseuds/arcanine
Summary: "What are you doing here?" Baz asks, like this is all some big coincidence. Like he didn't just unlock the front door and let Simon the bloody Vampire Slayer stroll right in.Snow only growls in frustration. "Do we have to do this every time? You know why I'm here. Are we doing this or what?"[It's the number one question that keeps Baz awake at night.You kill vampires. You don't kill me. Would you care to explain that discrepancy?]
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 62
Kudos: 374





	warm blood

He arrives just after midnight. He stomps in and trails mud along Baz's hallway and stands in the middle of his living room looking gorgeous and fuckable. Literally good enough to eat. His curls are messy and damp from the rain. It's almost certain he came straight from a fight.

"What are you doing here?" Baz asks like this is all some big coincidence. Like he didn't just unlock the front door and let Simon _the bloody Vampire Slayer_ stroll right in.

Snow only growls in frustration. "Do we have to do this every time? You know why I'm here. Are we doing this or what?"

"Doing what exactly?" Baz steps closer. "Pretending this is all perfectly normal? That your Mage wouldn't murder us both if he found out? That it isn’t supremely fucked up that you keep coming back here to get your rebellious kicks because apparently it takes a monster like me to make you feel alive?"

Snow's jaw is set. He drops his bag of murderous weapons to the floor carelessly, like it contains teabags and biscuits he just picked up at Tesco. "Yeah, I guess so. Reckon that sounds about right."

"You're a disaster.”

"Guess that makes two of us." Snow raises his eyebrows. It's absolutely a challenge. "Well?"

Baz reaches out, hands grasping for Snow's damp jacket. _Well_ , indeed.

 _Supremely fucked up_ is putting it lightly. There’s been months of this. Months of Simon Snow dropping by on his way back from hunting vampires to crawl into bed with one. It's a terrible idea, of course. The kind of situation that should be wholeheartedly avoided. But Baz is sad and weak and desperately alone. So who is he to complain if a strong, handsome man waltzes into his flat and kisses him like he's starving for it.

He's probably had an awful day. Baz would bet a hundred pounds on it. He reeks of desperation and self-pity and that's why he's here. Because he’s worked himself up into a frenzy of frustration and coming here is the only way he can act out against the Mage. The only place he can’t get to him.

Snow's so easy to read that Baz can practically follow his moods on an internal flowchart. Late-night - yes. Bad mood - _yes._ Advance to go. Collect £200. Don’t waste a single second. Why even bother conversing? Why squabble in circles for hours when there’s a much more satisfying alternative?

He pushes at Snow’s old leather jacket and it falls to the floor with a dull thud. He smells like rain and maple-glazed bacon and _blood._ Baz picked up that scent from the second he walked in. He pulls away from Snow’s mouth to find the source - a shallow gash just below his collarbone. He licks it clean because he's that disgusting. His fangs lengthen at the taste.

Disturbing though it is, he's almost flattered that the sight of his hideously sharp teeth could cause someone as attractive as Snow to undress. He drags off his t-shirt so his thick upper body is completely bare, and Baz wants to chide him, because what kind of slayer doesn’t bother to wear a cross? He wants to throttle him for being so careless, but he’s not supposed to care. Still, it's that cocky overconfidence that's going to get him killed one day. Just because he graduated a prodigy from the Mage's little monster hunting academy doesn't mean he should ignore all the basic and necessary precautions.

"Christ," he says, as Snow kicks off his trousers. “Is there anywhere you won’t hide a sharp, pointed object?”

Snow shrugs as he unfastens the dagger that's strapped to his ankle. "Gotta be prepared."

"Scared I'll turn on you?"

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Snow leans into Baz, fingers working at his belt, the dull metal clanking as he unfastens it. Baz kisses his neck because it’s right there. Because Snow groans when he scrapes his fangs over that mole that’s always been the perfect target. Baz feels Snow's pulse accelerate wildly beneath his lips. He wants it, the absolute nightmare. He wants it so much.

“Just do it,” he says. “Bite me. Stop fucking around."

“Has anyone ever mentioned that your manners are appalling?”

“I just want you to get on with it."

" _Get on with it_?" Baz scoffs.

"Yeah. What's wrong with that? Want me to write you a poem first?"

It’s such typical Simon Snow behaviour. Making demands. Believing that the entire universe will align itself around him if he just pushes hard enough. The most infuriating thing is how readily it works. Baz is so lost in his orbit that he doesn't stand a chance.

“At least let me undress. Bloodstains are near impossible to get out. And I happen to be fond of this shirt.”

"Come here then."

It's impressive that all the buttons stay in place when Snow tugs them open. He’s lost at least three to date to those clumsy hands. Baz would sew them on tighter as a precautionary measure, but it seems too presumptuous to assume this is anything other than fleeting and temporary.

There's nothing else it can be. Things are so much simpler if they stick to the script. If Baz performs the role of the cold, heartless vampire flawlessly. If he pretends to merely tolerate this for the sake of sustenance and sexual gratification. He has no other choice. Show an ounce of humanity and this whole thing unravels.

“Would it kill you to be delicate?” he sneers, as Snow tosses his shirt carelessly towards the floor.

"You could be grateful, you know. I'm doing you a favour here."

"Are you?" Baz asks. "When I could go into town and find a hundred willing men who look just like you. Or better yet a family of squirrels. That would be a charmed life. Imagine the novelty of a midnight snack that doesn't talk back."

Snow shoves Baz, hard enough that he stumbles back into the armchair behind him. "You’re terrible,” he growls as he climbs into Baz’s lap. "Absolutely unbearable."

Baz lifts his head to meet his glare. "Then why are you here? Why don't you just kill me and put us both out of our misery?"

It's the number one question that keeps him awake at night. _You kill vampires. You don't kill me. Would you care to explain that discrepancy?_

“Because,” Snow says, his cheeks reddening, "there are some benefits to keeping you around."

"Are there?" Baz drawls. “Like what?”

Snow presses his neck right against his mouth, and Baz is long past worrying that he's taking advantage. He knows why he comes here. For stress relief, to feel good, to rebel against the man that controls his every move and sends him out on missions he can barely survive. He knows that Snow comes here to use him.

And Baz is so depraved that he adores it.

He gasps when Baz's fangs pierce his skin. Baz tries to maintain some sense of control because Lord knows that snarling desperation is unattractive. But he can’t ignore the carnal urge that spikes in his stomach when warm blood fills his mouth. Snow groans and pushes against him, tilting his neck for easier access.

Baz is smarter than this. On paper, he’s far too intelligent to have given one of Britain's most renowned hunters his fucking home address. But even the constant threat of a stake through the heart isn't enough to stop him.

Nothing could tear him away from this.

He’d never do this with anyone else. Not even with the people in bars who practically beg. Humans are messy. They get attached. Addicted. Drawn to the concept of eternal life.

But Simon Snow isn't human. He's something else entirely. Of course, Baz has no actual proof to back up this theory, but he's certain it must be true. He's unnaturally strong. He heals too easily. Nobody tastes like him. Moves like him. _Feels_ like him. He's something special, alright. Baz just hasn't figured out what exactly.

Baz thought he was a Normal at first. An attractive, naive Normal who talked like he came from some dreary town up North and laughed like he didn't know the world was constantly on the brink of ending. He had golden skin and a sunshine smile, and Baz planned to avoid him as readily as direct sunlight. He thought he was just another idiot who'd come to one of London's most infamous bars with a romanticised idea of vampires, seeking eternal death like the rest of them.

But he was more than that. So much more.

The first time they met, he had the bollocks to try and barge right into the exclusive VIP section, dressed in scruffy trainers and jeans that were torn at the knees. Baz had the privilege of being stuck on the door that night. He was poised in front of the entrance to the basement lounge of a cramped, sweaty bar and hating every moment of it. Baz always despised being used as a glorified bouncer, but back then, he still had a debt to pay off. He owed Lamb for taking him in after he’d been cast out. After his wand had been confiscated and snapped, and he'd been stripped of his home and any scrap of dignity. Lamb always was a bastard like that. He'd smile and he’d help you, but he always asked for something in return. And Baz had lost count of how many years of his life he’d already promised away.

“You’re not on the list,” he told Snow. That much was obvious. He didn't even bother to glance down and check.

“I know, but...” He rubbed at his neck. “But I was kinda hoping that you’d let me in anyway?”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I’m nice?" He smiled winningly. "Because _you’re_ nice?”

“I’m not sure I am nice.”

“Well, you look it,” Snow blurted out, and then promptly turned pink. “No, erm. Not that you _look_ nice, but. Well. Not that you don’t. I just. _I mean-_ ”

Baz narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

"Simon. Simon Snow."

" _Snow,_ " Baz repeated. He thought it was a fake name. Of course he did. It was much later that he learned that he didn't even have the decency to lie. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Nah. Just visiting. I’m a vam-uh van driver. I travel a lot. Driving vans. So are you gonna let me in or-" He smiled again, and Baz had barely known him for five minutes and he was already painfully weak to it.

"My apologies," he said curtly. "But there's no _Simon Snow the van driver_ on my list."

Simon looked from Baz to the door and then back again. He paused for a moment, like he was debating barging his way through anyway, and then he took a step back.

“Right then. Cheers, mate. Guess I’ll see you around.”

And _see you around_ was the understatement of the century.

He started showing up more and more. Some nights he brought friends - a loudly dressed woman and a loudly voiced American who seemed to have gone to a great effort to coordinate their equally ridiculous glasses. They never actually approached any vampires. Sometimes they just sat in a booth reading thick old books, like their dark, dingy bar was a library. Sometimes Snow would seek Baz out and ask him questions he couldn't answer. Some nights, he borderline stalked him. He’d follow Baz outside when his break started and sit on the wall by the back alley, chatting nonsense and tapping his trainers against the bricks. Baz looked forward to those nights the most.

And he dreaded them too. Because Simon was infuriatingly curious. He was quite likely the most beautiful man Baz had ever had the pleasure of meeting. He had an easy smile and he smelled like cinnamon and sometimes, the way he looked at Baz made him think that -

It made him think about things that he couldn’t dare to dream about.

Snow always made him feel so strange and unguarded. Out of control. Like he might split himself open and reveal his darkest secrets, just to get his attention. Just to hold his interest for half an hour longer. Baz was desperate to know more about him. He wanted to lay him out like a textbook on a library desk and study him under lamplight until his vision blurred and he knew everything about him. Every memory. Every secret.

There was always something special about Simon Snow. It just took an embarrassingly long time to figure out what.

In Baz’s defence, they were good at what they did. They were almost so strange that they didn’t arouse suspicion. They didn’t seem like hunters at all. They seemed like naturally curious uni students who hung out in vampire bars in Soho because they were bored. They were such a stark contrast to the usual mindless drivel of customers that trickled through that Baz had actually grown somewhat fond of them.

So it was quite the betrayal when they barged into Lamb’s bar and took down every vampire in sight.

It’s not like Baz was devastated by it. Truthfully, he found the company of vampires even more loathsome than humans, and he wasn't stupid. He'd seen the news reports, the increase in deaths. Things were happening that he could never, ever agree with. But bloodthirsty though they were, they were the closest thing he had left to a community. They were people he’d shared drinks with. People who had taught him how to make the best of his pitiful existence. And they were being murdered before his very eyes. Which almost certainly meant Baz was next.

He managed to sneak out during the chaos. Baz rushed down a narrow corridor, planning to hide out in a storeroom until they left. (There were so many of them. He wouldn’t fight, but he didn't want to die, not like this. What else could he do?) He reached to open the storeroom door and a hand slammed against it, landing just above his shoulder. Baz turned and Snow was right there, all sweaty and scuffed, warm body so close that he was practically pressing Baz back against the door. His heart sank and soared simultaneously.

"You need to get out of here," Snow hissed, his blue eyes wild. " _Now_."

Baz gazed down at him. He was a brave, shining vision of strength and idiocy that he couldn’t look away from. "Did you follow me here?"

“Well, yeah. I-”

“Why?”

Simon flushed a deep shade of pink that was so pretty, even under the flickering fluorescent light. His teeth skimmed over his bottom lip, just briefly, and Baz felt his biggest fears and his greatest desires collide. That look said everything. It was written all over his face. Snow cared about him, in one way or another. He cared and he’d dropped by to kill all the vampires here, and Baz just happened to be one of them. The whole situation was honestly less than ideal.

"I just-" Simon swallowed. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

"Why?” Baz asked again. “It appears that murdering creatures like me is right up your street.”

Snow's mouth fell open and just hung there. He didn’t bother to close it. He stared for a long moment like he was searching for the words to respond. “What - What do you-”

“Surely you’re not that thick,” Baz said. “You know that I’m one of them, don't you?”

Snow’s eyes widened, his face the very picture of betrayal. He must have known. There’s no way he didn’t. He must’ve known, but maybe he never wanted to believe it. “But. You’re-”

"Yes.” Baz nodded gravely. “Unfortunately so. I suppose this means you're morally obligated to kill me, does it? Personally, I'd rather sit this one out. I'm quite fond of you, Snow. And you're much too pretty to fight."

Snow’s eyes flashed with something dark and unreadable. He shifted, stepping back, and Baz could see his arm was bleeding. The smell of it was so overwhelming that all Baz could think about was tearing at his throat and draining him dry. Or - no, not that. _Kissing him._ Tasting his lips. Shoving him up against the wall and taking anything he'd give. Anything, before Snow ended him.

“Simon?” A high voice called out, making them both jump. Footsteps echoed and Simon pressed all the way against him, hand covering Baz’s mouth. "All clear down there?"

His breath was ragged. Baz could feel it hot against his cheek. His skin seared where their bodies touched. Baz used to conjure up flames out of nowhere, but he'd never felt this kind of heat before. Snow kept his eyes fixed on him and called out, "yep."

"Then hurry up, for Christ’s sake! We don't have much time!”

Simon backed off slowly, his stare unwavering. He turned and nodded pointedly towards the fire exit. "Go," he mouthed. When Baz hesitated, he shoved his shoulder. “Go!” he hissed.

Baz’s survival instinct finally kicked in. He didn’t have to be told twice. He charged through the door and out onto the damp, dreary streets of London. And he narrowly escaped before they burned Lamb's vampire club to the ground.

Maybe he should’ve been happy or relieved. To be safe. To be free and alive, or somewhere within the vicinity of it. But all he felt was restless. Everything had ended so abruptly that he couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn't thank Snow or kiss him senseless or ask why he’d do something so idiotic and reckless.

And that bothered him more than anything else.

Baz didn’t stay in London. He found a contact in Liverpool and spent a dreadful week in Nicodemus’s sorry excuse for living quarters until he managed to secure his own place - a small studio flat by the docks.

He spent his days struggling to decipher the monstrosity of the scouse accent and hiding out at the city library. He researched in the Picton reading room and in the evenings when the sun was setting, he’d climb to the rooftop terrace and stare out at the grey expanse of the city and try piecing it all together.

There were only three things he knew for certain back then. Simon Snow was a vampire hunter. They were natural enemies. And they would never see each other again.

So all things considered, it's kind of wild that they ended up here.

Their clothes lay abandoned on the floor now. Baz is pressed back in his armchair with Snow in his lap, muscular thighs spread open, cock pressed hard against his stomach. Some nights he turns up and pounces and Baz doesn't stand a chance, but tonight he's as soft as melted butter. Baz works his slick fingers to prepare him, lapping at the blood dripping down his neck, and it tastes divine. So thick and decadent on his tongue.

"M'ready," Simon says. “ _Baz-_ ”

“For what? Ask nicely.”

“Fuck me. _Please._ God, just- _”_

Simon gasps as Baz removes his fingers, fast and all at once. He used to be too proud to beg. It's incredible how easily he surrenders these days. How quickly they soften from their tiresome bravado. Maybe they both know that it’s only for show.

“Want to lie down?"

Snow nods. The bed seems too far away, even in a studio apartment, so they stretch out on Baz's soft, plush rug instead. Baz licks at the blood that spilled when they moved because he wouldn’t dare to waste a drop. Snow lays on his side, the heat of his back pressed against Baz’s cool chest.

He’s so beautiful. Baz wants to spend all night kissing every mole and every freckle. He wants to, but he’s aching for it, and he suspects he’s not the only one. Snow reaches back to wrap a hand around him, guiding him to exactly where he wants him. He’s so greedy and impatient, but Baz wouldn’t dare to complain. Not when his cock is pressed against Snow’s glorious arse.

" _Baz_ ," Simon whimpers, and then he exhales sharply.

Because Baz is inside him, going slow despite his every instinct, willing himself to make every movement careful and precise.

“All right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Simon breathes. “Jesus fuck _yeah_.”

He holds Simon close, fingers roaming over his chest as he allows himself to move properly. As he fucks him the way he so desperately wants to. The whine that Simon makes in response almost kills him off right there. He never holds back his voice. He's always loud and unguarded - just throws himself into it, the same way Baz imagines he does in battle. 

“So _good,_ ” Simon groans, as Baz presses deeper, fingers digging into his hip. “God, Baz, you feel so-

Baz loathes how good it feels to have him like, trembling in the dim light as the rain lashes hard against the window. He loves him like this, all soft and defenceless. All _his,_ at least for tonight.

It’s not always like this. Some nights it’s so rough that they can barely catch their breath, and Baz likes that. He knows what he’s getting when Snow’s wild and bossy. But tonight, he's so soft and willing, and Baz doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it. He groans against his neck, and it must be so obvious, that Baz is desperately and pathetically charmed by his very existence. That he loves him so much that he’d risk his whole life just to feel this.

Baz used to pray that he'd never come back. He’d pray that Snow would get sent on some Antarctic mission to deal with zombie penguins, and he’d leave Baz alone to wallow in self-pity, debating his own mortality until he starved to death or set himself on fire, whichever came first. But he knows now that he couldn't live without this. That this is the only thing in the entire universe that makes him feel close to alive.

" _Simon,"_ he says because he loves the way it gets to him. He says it again just to make him shiver. Because it feels so sacred on his tongue.

“Fuck,” Simon hisses. "Oh, fuck, Baz - I missed this.”

“Missed this?” Baz is messier now. Mere moments away from shattering completely. “It’s barely been a week.”

“Too long,” Simon says, his whole body shuddering. “Too- _ahhh_ , oh my God, don’t stop-”

“I won't. Not yet."

“I mean ever _. Please_. Let's keep doing this forever. _Fuck_ everyone else.”

"There is no one else." The words spill from Baz's mouth before he can stop them. “Always you. _Only_ you."

They find each other afterwards. Simon kisses Baz’s bloodstained lips and holds him so tight and it’s warm and messy and _terrifying._ Because it feels so obvious, that there's something big and real here. Larger than either of them have ever cared to admit.

It always felt like there was a wall between them. Their natural opposition. The weight of reality waiting to crush them, threatening to seep in with the sunlight. A man with the courage to rid the world of evil, and a vampire with no place left in the universe. It seemed impossible. _Laughable._ Even when they sought each out and fucked against any surface they could find, Baz knew that was all it was. It could never be anything real.

But if this isn’t real, then what is? If this doesn’t mean anything, then why do they keep risking everything to be here? 

Baz had given up on everything. He led a flat, solitary existence, haunted by the shame of being thrown out of a world that he adored. He never let anyone come close.

But he let down his guard for Simon. He faced him head on, bloodthirsty and flawed, and somehow Snow kept coming back. He stayed up all night with him talking about monsters and magic, and kissed him like he meant it because he did. _Every time_. He never meant to fall in love with him. He never meant to let this secret place where no one else can find them feel like somewhere he belongs. Like _home_.

***

Simon dozes off immediately after. He does that sometimes, and Baz worries that he drank too much. He throws a blanket over them and checks on his wounds. Then he lies on the rug facing Snow and watches him huff out breaths.

His mind is racing around in circles. He can’t do anything but think.

He always wondered how he pulled it off. How Snow managed to come bursting back into his life as chaotically as he’d entered the first time. What the odds were that he'd charge in, heroic fanfare practically blasting out behind him, right when Baz needed him most.

It was an embarrassing feat, the whole lot of it. He’s still mortified thinking about it. Around three months ago, he’d stumbled into a turf war between two rival gangs of werewolves when he was out hunting, so they'd kidnapped him. _Kidnapped_ him, for God’s sake. They locked him in a cupboard in some boarded-up old house in the woods, in a tiny, dark space that reeked of damp. They bound his hands and left him bruised and starving, and it couldn’t have been more of a cliche.

Baz isn't sure how long they left him there, but it was long enough that he thought he was hallucinating when Simon Snow and his gang of heroes crashed in. It was the American who kicked down the door, and Baz barely recognised him at first. He thought he was a werewolf who'd come back to finish him off.

"Oh shit,” he said. "Are you okay? Hey, guys! You'd better come see this."

Baz’s barely beating heart managed to elevate. Recognition seeped in as he heard heavy, clomping footsteps that could only belong to one person. Baz could’ve cried when he burst into the room, covered in dust and scratches. He could’ve kissed him right there where he stood, gawking, his mouth hanging open. Maybe he would've if his hand weren't tied.

“Baz," Simon gasped. "Shit, you look - how did you - what the _fuck_?”

The next thing he knew he was limping outside. He was barely upright. The supportive weight of Snow’s muscular arm felt like the only thing keeping him alive.

They managed to find Baz’s car. He was amazed it was still parked there. And that the werewolves had left the keys in his pocket.

"Can I drive it?" Snow asked.

"No.”

"I'm going to drive it."

Baz could hardly protest. He was in no position to do it himself, collapsed on the back seat, devouring the sandwiches Snow had thrown at him.

“ _Simon!"_ One of his friends called out. “You can’t! He's a-”

“Finish up here,” Snow shouted back. “I’ll check in with you soon. Meet you back at base, yeah?”

"Wait-"

The car door slammed shut. Snow drove them to a cramped, impersonal flat. He stripped off Baz's clothes and heaved him into the shower and rinsed him clean, splashing his own clothes with stray drops of water. He wrapped Baz in a towel and laid him out on the bed and Baz's head was spinning. All he could think about was how hungry he was. And how close Snow was, leaning over Baz, his blue eyes full of concern.

“You need blood,” he said.

Baz could barely find the strength to nod.

“Where do I get some? What do you need?”

“Anything,” Baz rasped out. "Please. A rat or a pigeon or-"

“Anything?” Snow repeated slowly, his fingers toying with the collar of his t-shirt. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Baz's eyes were drawn to it. “Look. It… it wouldn't kill me, right? People do this all the time. It’s a thing. You could drink without Turning me, couldn't you?"

“No,” Baz said. “I won’t-"

“I’m tough, you know. I can take it. I lose blood all the time." He dragged off his t-shirt. Had the nerve to look Baz in the eye and suggest something so audacious. "You must be so hungry. And we don't have much time.”

Baz shook his head. “I won't hurt you..."

"It's okay. If it’ll save your life then-"

“ _No_.”

Snow took Baz’s cheeks in his hands. He gazed down at him, and his warmth spread like a blaze of fire through his cold, undead body. "I'm not scared of you, Baz. I never was. You're not like the rest of them. I… I trust you."

Baz was so weak. So starved. He didn't have the willpower to refuse any longer.

He never planned for what happened next. Neither of them thought that far ahead. Snow tasted so good, and it did something to them - when Baz mouthed at his neck for the first time. Snow got all flushed and hot, and he was writhing on top of Baz, making these ungodly sounds, and it was a natural reaction. Simon's blood brought Baz to life quite literally, and the fact that he was only wearing a towel made that all the more obvious. He thought it was purely accidental when Snow rolled his hips against him for the first time. But the third time. The _fifth._ That's when Baz pulled back.

He felt his fangs retracting. He felt awake and alert in every way, the blood rushing through him like a raw burst of energy. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, the realisation of what he’d just done sinking like a sickly weight in his stomach. “Did I… Oh, Christ, did I take too much?”

“M’fine,” Snow said. He grinned down at Baz, his face flushed and half-delirious. “That felt _good_.”

 _Impossible,_ Baz thought. It was impossible that this gorgeous man existed and that he’d showed up and saved Baz’s life a _second_ time. Impossible that he’d even suggest that Baz literally sucking the life from him had been an enjoyable experience.

"Thank you for your assistance," Baz managed to say. “I greatly appreciate what you've done for me, but-” Baz cleared his throat, willing himself to ignore the hardness pressing against his thigh. “This has gone far enough. And I think you ought to move.”

“Don’t wanna,” Snow murmured, fingers brushing across Baz's cheek. “You’re comfy. And you're so fucking _fit._ ”

Baz almost laughed. He hadn't combed his hair in God knows how long and he fed heavily. Messily. The mere concept of someone finding him attractive with blood smeared around his mouth was ridiculous. There was no way he meant it. It was obviously some side effect of the vampire bite.

"You don't mean that," Baz said. “You _can’t-_ ”

“I thought I’d never see you again. And now you're here and I just-” He rolled his hips again. “I want to-”

“No. Listen. It’s likely I just hit you with some supernatural aphrodisiac, which is extremely dangerous and you probably have no idea what you’re saying or what you want, so I'd advise you to-”

Simon kissed him. _Kissed him._ His soft, chapped, impossibly warm lips parted against Baz’s own, and he was sure that it must be a dream. He was certain he must still be locked up in that old house and hallucinating. There was no way the man of his dreams had just fallen from the sky and decided this was what he wanted. To allow Baz to drink his blood and then - oh Christ he really want to -

Baz indulged himself for a moment too long before he pulled back, breathing heavily. “We can’t,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because they’d kill you. And then me. Then probably you again.”

"Who would?” Simon whispered. “It's just us here. No one has to know."

Baz looked at him in the dim light, his resolve weakening with every passing second. He looked so alive - bright and wild and golden-skinned. He was the warmest thing Baz had ever seen. And for some dark, twisted reason probably best unearthed during hours of therapy, he wanted Baz too.

“Kiss me,” Simon murmured.

Baz had no choice but to obey.

They didn't talk about it after, not really. But Snow was right there beside him the next morning, on bedsheets that probably needed settling on fire, looking beautiful and an absolute mess and Baz didn’t stand a chance. Any glimmer of good sense was already lost.

He always thought there was some sick irony that Snow managed to find him without trying.

But in hindsight, maybe he was looking for Baz. It’s an entirely dangerous thought. But maybe he was searching the whole time.

***

It's still dark when Baz wakes up lying on his rug. Simon shifts beside him, pushing himself upright.

“Gonna shower," he whispers, pressing a kiss to Baz's temple. And then he's gone, clattering the bathroom door shut loudly behind him.

Baz is sitting upright on his bed when he returns. Fully dressed, because he doesn't like to stay in a dishevelled state for too long. It makes him feel… exposed. Vulnerable, if you will.

Snow's hair is wet. There’s a towel wrapped around his hips when he drops down onto the edge of the bed and sprays drops of water all over the sheets. It’s things like that that make Baz certain he’d be a nightmare to live with, but he wants it anyway. So much that it aches.

"Right,” Snow says, and for once he’s not slouching. His back is straight and tense. His eyes flick down to his knees and then back up towards Baz. “Right. I’m gonna say something. And I know you’re gonna be all scandalised because you're too dark and vampy to handle it, but - but I’m gonna say it anyway.”

Baz doesn’t dare to breathe. "Alright...”

“I’m leaving tomorrow. For a while, I think? There’s major goblin problems in Wales and we’re gonna go deal with them and it'll probably be crap because goblins are awful and it’ll rain all the bloody time but I - erm. Well. The thing is…"

"Spit it out, Snow.”

"I want you to come with me."

Baz's heart stutters to a standstill. “Pardon?”

“Come with me," Simon says again. "With us. Join the team."

“Why?"

“Because it makes sense! You're bored off your tits stuck here brooding all the time and you’d be well useful. I mean, you're strong and smart and I’m actually scared of what you and Penny could accomplish if you worked together, and everyone's up for it. They said it's always handy to have a spare person for when someone gets kidnapped."

“But I’m-” Baz shakes his head, struggling over which statement to unpack first. “How could I? If your Mage found out-”

“We barely see him. All he does is send us new locations on Google Maps. You can just hide when he rings up, that’s what everyone else does. They always make me talk to him.”

"Can you hear yourself? You want a vampire. To join your monster hunting team? Have you actually thought this through?”

“Yes! And this is _me,_ Baz. I don’t think about anything ever. I just do what I’m told. You know, charge in and bash stuff up and that’s that. But-" Simon looks at Baz, his eyes brimming with hope. “But I've thought about this. If you come with us, we could do this. _Properly._ ”

“Air your questionable sexual kinks in front of your friends and an army of goblins?”

“We can drop the act and just be together. I'm up for it, you know. I’m all in if you are.”

“I…” Baz hesitates. It sounds so simple when he says it. And if Baz was human, if he didn’t destroy everything he got close to, then it’s an offer that he’d grasp in a heartbeat. “...Tomorrow is so soon. I’ve got nothing packed and - and you’ve given me no prior warning. You can’t just expect me to uproot my life for you.”

“What life, Baz? Sitting here brooding and reading old books and going on about how shit it is to be a vampire? Sounds pretty crap to me.”

“Well, what's the alternative? A vampire and a slayer riding off into the sunset together and honeymooning in Hawaii? Do you really think that’s possible? You’ve got to be realistic, Snow. Having secret, sordid sex doesn’t change the way the world works.”

Snow’s face falls. His hopeful expression shatters completely. “Right. Well. Guess that’s that then.”

He stands abruptly and turns away, almost knocking over a lamp in the process. Baz watches him stomp around collecting up his clothes. He's far too unsteady on his feet.

“You should slow down,” Baz says. “I drank a lot tonight. The last thing I want is you passing out.”

"Why do you even care?” Snow snaps, stepping clumsily into his trousers. He opens his mouth, then shakes his head. “Whatever. Forget it. I’m just gonna go.”

He wobbles again and Baz draws himself up. He strides across his flat to open a drawer. Baz lobs a Snickers bar across the room and Snow must be out of it because his quick reflexes fail him. It just bounces off his broad chest and falls sadly to the floor.

"What the _fuck,_ " he grunts. Then he bends slowly to pick it up.

“You need to eat,” Baz says, rummaging around his kitchen for anything he can feed him quickly. He pulls out three packets of crisps. Half a baguette. An entire carton of orange juice. "You're a hero, Snow. Your death should be tragic and poetic, not a consequence of you passing out on the streets of Liverpool. They'll mug you, you know. Do you really want your precious weapons to be sold for scrap?"

Snow unwraps the Snickers. "Baz-"

" _Sit_." Baz gestures at a stool at his counter. "Before I finish you off myself."

Snow drops down reluctantly into the chair. Baz further raids his fridge, skipping over the high-quality hummus and olives for a slab of butter because he knows Snow well enough to assume he has refined taste buds. He watches Snow slather butter on the baguette (directly on the top. He doesn't even slice it open) and he tells himself this is for the best. There’s a reason he was cast out from the World of Mages. A reason his family have to risk their lives to even speak to him these days.

But if it’s the right thing, then why doesn’t it feel like it? Why does it feel so bloody terrible?

Snow finishes his food too quickly. He zips up his leather jacket and slings his bag full of murderous monster-hunting weapons over his shoulder and stands in Baz’s hallway looking heart-achingly beautiful. Like everything Baz has ever wanted.

"Guess you must be happy,” he says. “Finally getting me out of your hair and stuff.”

"That's-" Baz sighs. "That’s not what I want.”

“Yeah?” Snow takes a step forward, right into Baz’s space, crowding him against his shoe rack. “Then what _do_ you want?”

“I…” Baz can’t look him in the eye, so he studies his doormat. The flecks of mud that Snow trailed in earlier should annoy him, but he feels saddened that he won’t see them again after tonight. He's emotional over fucking _mud_. “I want you to be careful out there. Try not to get yourself murdered, okay?"

“Likewise,” Snow says flatly. “Try not to get kidnapped. And I’ll… I dunno. Guess I’ll see you around or something?”

“I’ll be here. Praying for the day that the Mage sends you my name so you can finally end my pitiful existence."

Simon’s bag drops with a loud, dull thud. He looks so furious that Baz stops dead still. "Do you really think I'd do that? After everything I said?"

Baz shrugs his shoulders. “It’s the circle of life, isn’t it? Hunter kills vampire. Vampire turns to dust and poisons the earth and-”

"I would _never_ ," Snow says, so forcefully that Baz’s heart jolts to a complete stop.

"Then you're an idiot."

“You’re the idiot! You’re an absolute fucking knobhead. You act like you’re this horrible creature and you lock yourself away and pretend that you’re too dark and brooding to actually feel anything, but I think you’re just scared that if you let someone in you’ll have to stop hiding away from the world and actually live in it! You're _not_ a monster, Baz. You're brilliant and you're smart and you're so fit that it offends me and you'd never hurt anyone and I love you. So fucking _much._ And I don’t even know why, because you’re so full of shit. I can’t wait to leave the country and go to sodding Wales because I’m so _done_ with you acting like this is nothing.”

He starts pacing wildly up and down the hall, and Baz can barely breathe. "Simon."

"Fucking spooky bastard," he mutters. "Emotionless cockcheese. Peabrained dickeyed fuck wanker.”

“ _Simon!_ ” he says again, reaching for his shoulders. “Will you stand still for a second?”

“Why?" Snow jerks back. "So you can take the piss? Tell me how fucked up I am? No thanks. I've embarrassed myself enough and I feel like shit and I'm just gonna go-”

He reaches for the door handle. Baz covers his hand with his own.

“Don't," he says, and he feels Simon tense under his touch.

"Why?" 

"Because it’s chucking it down out there. And it’s dry in here. And…” Baz takes a breath. “And I’m desperately in love with you too.”

It starts the same way that it did earlier. But this time, it’s different. This time, when Simon loops his arms around his neck and leans into him, Baz holds him close. He kisses him back like he might die if he doesn’t. And what a novelty it is that he doesn’t even have to antagonise him into it.

“Okay," Snow says as he pulls back. "Wait. Hang on. Since _when_?”

“Since… always?” Baz says.

Simon smacks his arm. Then kisses him again. Then pushes him back into the shoe rack, so hard that it rattles. “You never said! All this time, you let me think that you only liked my dick or something."

"Well, I am rather fond of it. And I don't recall you even mentioning you liked any other part of me."

"You wouldn’t let me! Every time I tried you’d just go, _no, I’m a vampire, I couldn't possibly feel anything,_ and that'd be that. Or you'd get me all riled up and distract me and - I dunno. There just wasn't a good time? And I thought it was enough, I guess. To just... touch you. But then I thought about leaving you behind, and it kinda hit me. That you mean that much to me. Even if I do want to kill you at least 50 percent of the time."

“I... didn’t want to get too attached," Baz says softly. "We're enemies by nature. What if this was all part of some elaborate ruse to kill me in my sleep?”

“Do you think I'm the kind of person who bides their time? Why else would I put up with you? Why would I save your life twice?"

"Because you're a hero?"

"I'm a _hunter_ , Baz. I've got more blood on my hands than anyone. We both know I should've finished you off, but-"

"But you went soft?"

"But I mean it when I say that you're not like the rest of them."

"I literally just fed from you."

"Only 'cause I told you to. You're different, Baz. You always have been."

"Because I had magic?"

"Because you _are_ magic." Simon flushes, and Baz can't stop gazing at him. He's so lovely that it hurts.

"I wish I was," Baz says wistfully. "The things I could've shown you..."

"No, okay, but you remember Penny, don't you? She's got this spellbook and she's been like - teaching herself or something? And she wasn't born into it like you were. You should chat with her about it. Dunno how it works but maybe you can - I dunno. Maybe it'll help you get yours back?"

Baz feels a tug in his chest at the very thought of it. Warmth tingles down his spine. Simon gives him so much hope. Hope for a better life than this.

"Oh shit, wait," Snow says, deflating. "We're going away, aren't we? And you don't wanna come. Fuck. I got all excited there. Kind of... er. Kinda forgot about that part."

Baz reaches for his hand and he clasps it tight between his own. "Simon Snow," he says. "I'd be honoured if you'd have me along."

"Do you mean like. As a boyfriend or a member of our goblin gang or-"

"Both," Baz says. "I'm all in if you are."

Simon grins and it lights up his whole face. "You're coming with me? You really are?"

"On a trial basis. I’m not signing any contracts or committing to a lifetime of chasing trolls or anything."

Snow wraps his arms around him. For a long moment, all Baz can do is squeeze him back.

"Right," Simon announces. "Guess we've gotta help you pack! Do you have your own weapons or do we have to go shopping? Hope it's the second one. I love sword shopping. Haven't been for ages."

Simon grasps his hand, and he's positively glowing with excitement. There's a flutter in Baz's stomach, like an entire weight's been lifted. He can't hold back his grin.

***

The meeting point is the car park of a closed supermarket, and not even an upmarket one. A Morrisons they have to get a taxi to because Baz would rather die than leave his car parked anywhere other than his flat's multistory for God knows how long.

The sun has barely risen. They'd spent so long rifting through Baz's wardrobe that they didn't sleep at all. But Snow is full of energy as he grips Baz's elbow and pulls across the car park, towards a group of three gathered outside an inconspicuous white van. 

"Alright?” he calls out when they’re close enough. “Brought another one with me."

He gestures to Baz like he's presenting a magic trick. Snow's friends exchange glances.

Penelope steps forward first. "Well,” she says. “It's about time."

“Oh, thank God he’s pretty,” the blonde woman says. “I can finally make someone else be bait.”

“He’s not being used as bait," Snow says, gripping Baz’s elbow tighter. “Just throwing that out there now. That's not why I brought him.”

“Thanks so much for taking over from me,” she says. She has delicate little hands, but her grip is sturdy. Strong. “You have beautiful hair, by the way. I’m Agatha. You must be Baz, right?”

Baz barely nods before Shepard charges at him, clapping a hand in his back. “Nice to have you along for the ride,” he says. “You remember me, right? I’m Shepard from Om-”

“I remember,” Baz says quickly. He looks between them. "So. You might have guessed that Simon asked me to join you. But are you really alright with it?”

"You’ll have to ride in the back," Penelope says. "Front seats are taken. We split food and accommodation costs evenly, along with the payout we get - if there is one, that is. And we reserve the right to kick you out and give you nothing if you act like a dick. Any questions?”

Several. Several thousand. But he might as well get this one out of the way. "You know, don't you? That I'm... one of them. That I have no soul."

"Oh, me either." Shepard grins. He holds up his hand and wiggles it until Baz presses his palm hesitantly against it in the world's most reluctant high five. “Lost it in Birmingham. This demon took it and Simon tried to revenge kill it but-"

“He stopped me. He was all, _no, don't, that's my emotional support demon._ "

"I just thought he was a nice guy? And I didn’t really need it anyway?"

“I turned Simon into a dog last week," says Penelope. "Magical mishap. Happens sometimes."

“And I don't even know why I'm still here," Agatha admits. “I think about running away every day, but stabbing things is the only thing that makes me feel alive, so-”

"Well, I’m going out with a vampire," Simon announces.

Baz's eyebrows shoot up. "Are you?"

Simon frowns. "A-Aren't I?"

Baz smiles. "I suppose you are."

"Brilliant." Simon grins back. "Nice one. Good stuff."

"Hey Shep, can we stop at the services?” Agatha asks, interrupting their moment. “I want a magazine and some crisps.”

“Agatha, we’ve been through this,” Penelope says. “No more body-shaming, celebrity nonsense in the van. Why don’t I find us a good audiobook we can all listen to together-”

“Why not just kill me now?” Agatha groans.

Baz watches with a mildly baffled expression as they pile into the three seats up front. Simon slides open the back door and grins at him.

"What? You didn’t think you were special, did you? That you were the only weird one?" He offers Baz a hand and helps him in, pulling the door shut behind him. "You've got plenty of time to get used to 'em, at least. Long drive and all that. What is it… four hours?"

"Longer if we don't get moving," Penny adds helpfully.

"Hey Baz," Shepard calls out from the driver's seat. "What do vampires actually do for fun?"

"Oh, you know," Baz replies. "Sacrifice virgins. Retweet anti-garlic propaganda. Discuss _Twilight_ at our monthly book club."

"Sounds cracking," Snow says, "but what do you think of Netflix?"

The conversation turns quickly to serial killer documentaries as they start to drive, and a heated debate begins in the front seat. Baz tunes them out. He's distracted by how cute it is when Snow yawns and drops his head against Baz's shoulder, nuzzling into him like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You should eat more, you know," Snow says, shuffling about. "You’re too boney to be a good pillow. One star on TripAdvisor.”

"My apologies," Baz says. "I'll be sure to dig out my shoulder pads for our next trip. I'm sure I have a few jackets leftover from the 80s."

"The 80s?" Simon springs back up. "Wait, how old _are_ you?"

Baz smiles mysteriously. "Oh, I couldn't possibly say."

"You're not like three hundred, are you? Or old enough to be my grandad?"

Baz just laughs. "I can't reveal all my secrets just yet, Snow. How else will I maintain your interest?"

"Oh, Simon's far too interested in you," Penny says.

" _Obsessed_ ," Agatha adds.

"I'm not that bad!" Snow shrinks down in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm really not. They make me sound like a right weirdo."

Baz laughs again. He reaches for Simon's hand and squeezes. It's a new, mad adventure, but there's no one he'd rather share it with.

"Thank you," he says, softly. "For saving me. In more ways than one."

Simon flushes all the way up to ears. "I mean, I should've asked you ages ago. Probably should've talked it out instead of-" He clears his throat and glances down at Baz's lap. "Well, you know. But I'm glad you're finally here, and whatever happens - even if you get covered in goblin intestines - I hope you won't regret it."

"I won't," Baz says firmly. "Although preferably we'd avoid the goblin intestine part."

"It's all part of the fun," Penny says.

"Nothing wrong with an occasional goblin intestine," adds Shepard.

Baz sighs, shaking his head. "Just what have I signed myself up for?"

"A whole lot of fun, I hope," Simon says, grinning. He squeezes Baz's hand back. "Welcome to the team."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a direct result of listening to Carly Rae Jepsen's 'Warm Blood' and taking it far too literally. I was mildly agonising over this being a weird mood, but uhhh so is 2020. Also, I totally ended this on a vague note and then went back to add a more complete ending because they deserve happiness let them have it!
> 
> I'm writing a few more things, so keep an eye out if you're interested! and find me over here on [tumblr](https://arca9.tumblr.com/)!


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